


2% of Martha's Awesomeness

by nonelvis



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gravity's Rainbow, Multi, QI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen 100-word drabbles and two ficlets written as part of the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/lifeonmartha/"><b>lifeonmartha</b></a> "1,000 Drabbles of Awesome" challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2% of Martha's Awesomeness

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to publicly thank the mods of [**lifeonmartha**](http://community.livejournal.com/lifeonmartha/) for setting this challenge; I had a ridiculous amount of fun participating in it both as an author and as a reader.
> 
> Two of these stories ("I Would Like Three Points, Please" and "M.") have previously appeared on [**crossing_who**](http://community.livejournal.com/crossing_who/) and/or my LJ, but are archived here for completeness.

  
**First Day on the Job**   
_For [**jademacgrath**](http://jademacgrath.livejournal.com/): "Jack gives Martha some advice for her first day at Torchwood."_

"We don't have many rules here, Martha, but there are a few you need to know about."

"All right," says Martha, reaching for her notepad.

"One: don't take any artifacts home. We had some ... incidents with that last year."

"Got it."

"Two: the brown sauce in that bottle's for the pterodactyl, not you."

"Pterodactyl." Martha looks at Jack sceptically. "Right."

"And three, most important: interpersonal relations are fine, but don't let it get in the way of your job."

"So," Martha says, trailing a finger along Jack's jawline, "sleeping with the boss is okay?"

Jack smiles. "Highly encouraged, actually."

  
**Seven Heads Are Better Than One**   
_For [**biichan**](http://biichan.livejournal.com/): "Martha Jones has been cloned."_

The six Martha clones had just finished demolishing the X'tlan clone facility with two sledgehammers, three prybars, and a leftover canister of nitro-9 when the Doctor emerged from the rubble, coughing, but with a broad grin.

"You did it, Martha! I'm sorry those buggers kidnapped and cloned you, but the extra bodies were awfully handy."

"After all that, I guess they were! And they're temporary, right? Disintegrate into air freshener in twelve hours? What do I do with them until then?"

The Doctor pulled Martha close, kissed her softly. "Shouldn't that question be, 'What do _we_ do with them?'"

  
**The Forest of Cheem**   
_For [**doyle_sb4**](http://doyle-sb4.livejournal.com/): "the Forest of Cheem."_

It's always raining in the Forest of Cheem, the Doctor tells Martha, as droplets splash from above, spattering clothing, dripping into the vee where their hands join. They're surrounded by vivid, overwhelming green, the only noises the chittering of exotic birds, the susurrus of millions of wind-tossed leaves.

"There," the Doctor says, pointing at a gnarled tree weighted with metre-long seed pods, "that's a hatchery. Cheem's inhabitants are living plants, born in summer, when the pods ripen."

Martha strokes a pod, feels it vibrate with life-to-be, and says she'll wait, wait all season, for the day it opens.

  
**The Future Soon**   
_For [**doyle_sb4**](http://doyle-sb4.livejournal.com/): "Martha meets her future self."_

"You can't be ..."

"I am. And we shouldn't be meeting like this. Except I know we already did."

"Time travel is ..."

"... funny that way," the two Marthas say simultaneously.

"So you can't tell me what you're doing in 2154 then, can you?" the younger Martha asks wistfully.

Older Martha shakes her head. "I can't, but I can tell you this: you can do it. You'll be cold, and hungry, and angry, and terrified, but you can do it. Because you're fantastic, he knows it, and someday" – she smiles at her twin – "someday he'll tell you."

  
**Take a Picture, It'll Last Longer**   
_For [**asemic**](http://asemic.livejournal.com/): "Martha and the Doctor in a photobooth."_

"Stop squishing me!"

"It's not my fault there's hardly any room! And you're the one with her arm all up my –"

"Trust me, it's hard to enjoy that when we're hiding from ... what _are_  those things chasing us, anyway?"

"Lobellia's Imperial Guard."

"They were riding giant moose. With fangs. _Carnivorous space moose._ God, does it ever stop with you?"

"Nope. And admit it, you love it as much as I do."

"Hang on, what're you doing with the screwdriver?"

"Adjusting the camera angle. As long as we're stuck here, might as well have something to remember it by."

  
**Girl Talk #1**   
_For [**erinisia**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=erinisia): "Sarah Jane gives tips on not taking the Doctor's crap."_

"The Doctor can be very trying," said Sarah Jane. "The first time I met him, he asked me to make him a cup of coffee, as if I were some kind of servant."

"Yeah, well, I _was_ his servant for a while," Martha said glumly. "But that's a long story."

"You have to stand up to him; sometimes he needs someone to put him in his place. And he'll never admit it, but I think he likes a woman who pushes back."

"Oh, I figured that out eventually," Martha replied, grinning. "But a girl never kisses and tells, does she?"

  
**Girl Talk #2**   
_For [**netgirl_y2k**](http://netgirl-y2k.livejournal.com/): "Martha/Romana." _

"I'm not him," Romana breathed as Martha kissed her way along her neck. "I won't be his substitute." She pulled Martha up, stared her in the face. "We'll do this because you want me, not him. Is that clear?"

Martha caressed Romana's cheek, kissed her open-mouthed again, savouring alien flavour on her tongue. "I said the same thing to him, once. I don't think he got it. But then we found you."

"He'd be jealous if he knew," Romana said, a finger teasing circles around Martha's left nipple.

"That's his problem," Martha replied, and pushed Romana down to the bed.

  
**I Would Like Three Points, Please**   
_For [**significantowl**](http://significantowl.livejournal.com/): "Martha, Ten, and Jack as panelists on QI."_

"The mythical inhabitants of this planet are generally known by an alternate adjective," said Stephen. "Which planet is it, and why is the alternate term used?"

The Doctor slapped his buzzer, which emitted a low gonging sound. "The Venusians aren't mythical!" he said, indignant. "They're a lovely people, very spiritual, with a highly advanced form of martial arts which I'm not ashamed to say I completely mastered despite being down four arms."

Martha rolled her eyes. Bad enough she had to appear on the special Torchwood edition of _QI_; she had to do it with the universe's biggest know-it-all as well. In this case, though, with her medical knowledge of Latin, she had one up on him.

Martha's buzzer chimed delicately as she rang in. "The proper adjective is 'Venereal,'" she said. "But most astronomers don't use it because it sounds like a nasty disease."

"Very nasty," Jack added. "Good thing I had all my shots years ago. Not that I'd have caught anything from the Venusians – their biology isn't compatible that way. But it's compatible in every other way that counts."

The Doctor and Martha sighed simultaneously, and Martha made another tick mark on the mental list she was keeping of species Jack claimed to have slept with. It was a remarkably long list.

Another buzzer sounded: this time, a chicken clucking, as the last member of the party rang in. "Did you know Venus is made entirely out of felt?" Alan said.

Stephen chuckled and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Alan, you've stolen Rich's joke, so it's negative five points for you. Which means that as we calculate the final scores, our winner this evening, squeaking by with seven points, is the Doctor."

"Squeaking by? _Squeaking by?_ Who on earth could have even come close?"

"... in second place with six points, the delightful and clever Martha Jones ..."

Martha stuck her tongue out playfully at the Doctor, and was rewarded with a surprisingly flustered look in exchange.

"... in third place, rather shockingly, we have Alan Davies, with two points, which means that tonight's loser, with a stunning minus fifteen points, is Captain Jack Harkness!"

Jack started to laugh. "Outstanding!"

"Yes, losing to Alan is a rare feat indeed, though not necessarily one that calls for pride of accomplishment," said Stephen.

"You're missing the point," Jack replied, a devilish grin still on his face. "We had a bet going before the show. The loser has to sleep with all the winners. And I am a very, _very_ good loser."

  
**Are You Going to Eat That?**   
_For [**puipui**](http://puipui.livejournal.com/): "Are you going to eat that?"_

"Are you going to eat that?"

"The blue stuff?" Martha prodded the gelatinous pile with her fork. The blob wriggled back, and she could have sworn a tendril emerged to wave hello. "Maybe. What did you say it was?"

"Jellyfish aspic. Well, I say 'jellyfish,' I mean something jellied. And fish-like. Probably." The Doctor peered at the aspic. "With pineapple bits."

"You're making that up," Martha said. "You've no idea what it is either."

"Technically, no. But it isn't terribly appetising."

"I'm right here, you know," said the jelly, and both Martha and the Doctor decided the meal was over.

  
**Old Faithful**   
_For [**nostalgia_lj**](http://nostalgia-lj.livejournal.com/): "Martha gets a cat."_

The tabby had been Martha's present to herself after surviving the Year that Never Was, a furry, loyal companion to welcome her home and stop her from feeling lonely in the new flat.

In truth, unless the cat needed something – food, twirled string for him to hunt, several minutes of devoted belly-rubbing – he completely ignored his owner, either sleeping or scratching at Martha's favourite jumpers. He could go from cuddly to clawing Martha's hand without warning.

Unreliable little tease, coyly flirting only when it suited him.

Martha gave the cat to Tish, and bought a vibrator instead.

  
**Time Was ...**   
_For [**persiflage_1**](http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/): "Time was..."_

He's gone beige and rumpled, still attractive in a professorial way, still propped casually against the TARDIS, flirting with her. Again.

"Time was, all I needed was your charm to get me inside that ship," Martha says.

"Times change, apparently."

"We both have."

That twinkle in his eye's still there, too. "Charm or not, there's a universe that needs your help." He falters. "And I suppose it'd be nice having you around again."

"Nice."

"Better than nice, really."

"How much better?"

He opens the door for her. "Enough that next time you say 'time was,' you'll be talking about tonight."

  
**Hippos!**   
_Picking up a prompt of my own: "Hippos!"_

"Hippos. Dancing."

"Strictly speaking, they're Livonian river horses."

"They were wearing tutus. We've met carnivorous space moose, and talking Jell-O, but this is straight out of _Fantasia_, this is."

The Doctor scratched the back of his head. "Um," he said. "Might be, at that."

Martha gave him her best "I'm waiting ..." glare.

"There might have been a bootleg holofilm of the Spring Festival," he mumbled. "Which might have accidentally been left on a desk in California."

"You're saying _Fantasia_ was really your idea?"

"I'll never tell," he said, winking. "Come on, I don't want to miss the dancing alligators!"

  
**Stay**   
_ For [**erinisia**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=erinisia): "She was a rare thing / As fine as a bee's wing / So fine a breath of wind might blow her away. / She was a lost child / She was running wild, / She said "As long as there's no price on love I'll stay... / And you wouldn't want it any other way." ("Beeswing," Richard Thompson)_

"It's beautiful," Martha said, standing beside the Doctor on a cliff overlooking a shimmering violet sea. "But you're just trying to bribe me into coming back, aren't you?"

"Call it a promise, not a bribe."

Martha turned to face him. "If I came back now it would be because I don't want you to be lonely, not because it's where I should be."

"I'm not proposing, Martha. I just ... miss you."

"It's got to be better this time," she warned. "No more unexpected world tours, for one thing."

He leaned close, touched her lips with his. "Stay."

"Cheater."

"Always."

  
**You Have a Lot to Answer for, Jimmy Wales**   
_For [**puipui**](http://puipui.livejournal.com/): "That's not what it says on Wikipedia."_

"Two arms, two legs, two hearts, _just one_ ... ."

"That's not what it says on Wikipedia."

"And you trust everything you read online?"

"If it's wrong, someone'll correct it soon enough. That's how Wikipedia works."

"Yes, and that someone is me. Give me that keyboard."

"I don't see what's wrong with the page," Martha said. "OH HAI I HAS TWO TIEMCOCKS sounds very authoritative. Come on, give us a look."

The Doctor reddened and stomped off.

Martha grabbed the keyboard and resumed typing. "I CAN HAS TEH MASTER'S TIEMBAYBIEZ Y/Y?"

Oh, the edit wars were going to be _sweet_.

  
**Plaistow, New Hampshire, October 2009***   
_Inspired by the Boston weather, and also for [**puipui**](http://puipui.livejournal.com/): "Snow." _

Snow falls thick and fast from the slate-grey sky, driven hard by northeast winds, ice crystals pricking needle-sharp across Martha's skin. _Nearly there_, she thinks. _Early blizzard's nothing you can't handle._

She spends the night in a lakeside cabin, once part of a summer camp, now home to an elderly couple who feed her fish chowder with common crackers and bundle her in wool blankets. Wakes to blinding sunlight, reflecting golden and hopeful on the lake, and thinks, _only two more weeks. You can do it._

She runs outside and falls backwards, laughing, makes an angel mark in the snow.

  
**M.**   
_Picking up my own prompt, and also for [**elliptic_eye**](http://elliptic-eye.livejournal.com/): "Crossover with any Thomas Pynchon novel." (Gravity's Rainbow) _

The Blitzkrieg Bar is jam-packed with Britain's finest young drinkers, swilling the best booze wartime rationing can provide while the smooth and swanky sounds of London Liz and Her Buzzbombin' Beboppers hold sway in the background.

Slothrop's drinking here by himself tonight, Tantivy long ago having abandoned him for either sleep or the ritual weekly straightening of his sock drawer; Slothrop's down too many pints to remember which. But there's this new girl here tonight, all dark skin and leather and almond eyes and oh God she's enough to give him the kind of tingle in his GI-issue britches he usually doesn't feel until he's out back with a girl up against the wall.

The girl says her name is Martha, Martha Jones, and she humors Slothrop's benign tipsiness, which is just about enough to earn her a gold star in and of itself, even without the fucking. Martha Jones is flirty and clever, warns him she's just there killing time until her friend fixes their ride, though something about the way she says that makes him think she's having him on, as the local vernacular goes. But it doesn't matter, because she dances like a dream, laughs at the appallingly blue jokes he's picked up from Pirate Prentice and his gang and lets Slothrop drag her to the rooftop for some quick fumbling in the dark, nothing more serious than a little over-the-shirt action before she pushes him away.

"Sorry," she says. "Look, I'm leaving soon. Really soon. And I won't be able to see you again. It wouldn't be right."

There's no girl as beautiful as the one he can't have, and Slothrop suddenly feels his heart bursting with love and his shorts near-to-bursting with his hard-on, even while Martha makes it clear he's on his own with that. He'll lick her gold star and paste it on the map anyway, no fucking required, a first for the map, and _that_ ought to confuse Tantivy if he ever works up the courage to ask about it, not that a gentleman would.

Makes a leap toward the roof edge, and Martha yells desperate warning, but Slothrop knows what he's doing: slides down the drainpipe, slick as a ferret, races to the center of the street and throws his arms wide, singing:

> I got a jones for Miss Jones
> 
> I'm feelin' it down in my bones
> 
> She's totally magical
> 
> Completely fantastical
> 
> Yeah I've got a jones for Miss Jones

 

– cat-walks sprightly down the street as furtive war orphans emerge from the shadows, a ragged chorus line backing him up in jitterbugging pairs –

> I got a jones for Miss Jones
> 
> Since I met her, never been lone-
> 
> -some
> 
> She smiles – my cares melt away
> 
> She laughs – and I'm here to stay
> 
> 'Cause I've got a jones for Miss Jones

 

(Big Broadway finish now, really selling it)

> Yeah I-i-i've got a jo-o-o-nes for Miss Jo-o-ones!

 

Two stories below the Blitzkrieg Bar's rooftop, Slothrop can hear the seductive jangling of Martha's laughter, and an Estuary accent asking "What in the name of Rassilon was that?" But Martha's response, and Slothrop's drunkenly shouted declarations of devotion, are drowned out by the caterwauling of an air raid siren, and everyone, thwarted lovers and unseen companions and pig-tailed orphan girls alike, melts away in the shadows like springtime slush.

Tripping toward the nearest shelter, Slothrop hears a faint wheezing and groaning in the distance, not quite wind howling through missing shutter slats, nothing like the screaming of an incoming V-2, but something mysteriously foreign and compelling, and somehow, somehow he knows it's the sound of Martha fading away from him. It's okay. It's okay. It's a gold star night, this night with Martha Jones, and who knows what the next night will bring?

  
**You Say Potato, I Say ...**   
_No prompt, just what my brain gets up to at 2am._

"Danceteria, Danstirya. Close enough," the Doctor had said.

Both were dark, crowded, and slightly sticky. The difference, Martha planned to mention should he ever rescue her, was that one involved clubbing in 1980's New York, while the other meant being clubbed and suspended upside-down from a cave ceiling while natives chopped vegetables for Martha Stew. Not to mention that her dress was nearly covering her face by now, revealing her lacy blue knickers.

Later, finally safe and sound, the Doctor said to her, "You know, sapphire is really your colour."

Martha locked him out of the TARDIS for the night.

  
**Ad Astra**   
_Another 2am special, vaguely inspired by [**persiflage_1**](http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/)'s prompt, "Stars."_

Martha presses a hand against the window, gazes at the night sky.

"I miss the stars," she says, her voice small and hushed. "The city lights block most of them out."

Jack rises from the bed, still naked. "I miss them, too," he says, encircling Martha with his arms. "Once you've been out there, you never get used to being stuck in one place. Or time, for that matter."

"I was right to leave him. I know I was."

Jack kisses her neck softly. "We'll make it out on our own someday. But until then, just come back to bed."

  
**She Will Love You For It**   
_For [**puipui**](http://puipui.livejournal.com/): "Pick one of those randomly-generated subject lines from your spam mail and use that as a prompt_."

"I don't know why I bother checking email," Martha said. "It's always spam."

The Doctor peered at the screen. "'Turn your trouser mouse into a one-eyed giant kjavgf.' Oh, that'll never work. You lot don't get matter transmogrification technology until 2319, and even then the first law of thermodynamics still applies."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't turn a mouse into a giant kjavgf, one-eyed or not."

"Giant kjavgfs really exist? You're making that up, just like my last boyfriend."

"Majestic creatures from Fgyrthgarklv!" He winked at her. "And if you come to my bedroom, I'll show you just how majestic."

  
**Twenty**   
_My twentieth drabble for this challenge, written for a personal prompt of "twenty."_

Twenty days into Martha's travels, the Toclafane giggle and whir into hundreds of protestors, and she looks away, covering her ears to muffle the screams. Her shouted warnings went unheard, overpowered by rhyming chants the Toclafane found charming, though they still opened fire.

She's never had a harsher journey, surviving on breadcrusts and tinned soup and faith and a love that stabs at her every time she thinks of him. But she never stops. One foot in front of the other. One more person to hear her message. One more day, then another, and another, until her work is done.


End file.
